


Milk Stains

by Guardian_Kysra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Breastfeeding and all it entails, By going overboard, Difficult Pregnancy, Domestic Fluff, Draco is being a butthead husband, Draco redeems himself, F/M, Gen, Hermione had a difficult pregnancy, Hermione is a new mommy, Lactation, New mommy angst, Pregnancy and Childbirth, Premature Birth, Scorpius was born early, Sexual Tension, She does not have post partum depression, breech birth, clichéd, leaking breasts, mostly fluffy, so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21839242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Kysra/pseuds/Guardian_Kysra
Summary: Hermione and Draco are new parents and neither of them is coping very well for very different reasons.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Comments: 19
Kudos: 159
Collections: Strictly Dramione Christmas Fest 2019





	Milk Stains

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know Scorpius' birthday is canonically in January but let us just pretend he came WAY early, a premie if you will.

December 11, 2005

Hermione is late. She huffs thinking about it, feeling her heart galloping in her chest with agitation. She was _always_ on time before Scorpius was born; but now . . . just a few weeks into active motherhood, Hermione is a mess.

She is also frequently _late_. 

Hefting the weight of Scorpius sleeping in his car seat (she could have apparated but didn’t relish holding 30 lbs of baby, baby plastic and metal while retching), Hermione caught a glimpse of herself in the tinted windows of the café she was meeting Ginny at. ‘Bedraggled looking’ would be a compliment.

She sighs and enters, wondering if she should have woken thirty minutes early to make herself look . . . more presentable, and immediately decided she had needed the sleep _more_. When they had talked of having a baby before trying, she and Draco had agreed to take equal responsibility in baby care and house work. Unfortunately, in practice, things hadn’t been quite so equal, and Hermione was feeling the strain of recovering from childbirth, taking care of the baby while Draco was at work, keeping a consistent breastfeeding and pumping schedule, the work Shacklebolt sent her daily to complete at home (maternity leave notwithstanding – a deputy minister’s work was never done) and keeping the house in _acceptable_ condition. There simply wasn’t enough time (or energy) to worry about sleep or appearance. 

A little bell tinkles as she enters before she stops to admire the strings of red and green lights outlining the windows, the evergreen boughs and holly strewn across the ceiling, the ornate Christmas tree set up near the counter. 

Her slowing heart drops to her ankles. She had forgotten to put up their Christmas tree. The stockings – including Scorpius’ monogramed one in a strange concoction of Slytherin _and_ Gryffindor colors – were still packed away in some stray box from move-in. She hadn’t even thought about buying a “Baby’s first Christmas” ornament! And Christmas is only one week away!

She feels the burn in her nose as moisture begins to build in her eyes and heat races across her face. 

Scorpius is only a little over six weeks old, and she’s already fucking up as a mother. 

Seeing her distress from her seat, Ginny rushes over, takes the baby and carrier, and wraps a supportive arm around Hermione’s shoulders, ushering her toward the table and handing her a paper napkin in lieu of a tissue or handkerchief.

Hermione laughs miserably that she’s a veritable watering pot since Scorpius was born, and Ginny assures her that it’s perfectly normal, there are – after all – innumerable hormones warring inside her, trying to get back to normal. Of course, Hermione already knows this after reading ever prenatal, natal, and postnatal book in existence on both sides of the magical barrier; but Ginny is knee deep in medi-witch training, so she doesn’t let on that the information isn’t helpful.

They start talking and somehow between an update on the on-and-off-again-Ginny-and-Harry soap opera and the latest gossip surrounding Rita Skeeter’s surprise nuptuals to Percy, Hermione unloads how she’s been cleared for “typical marital relations” for over a week now (which means it’s been two months since she and Draco have had sex; how she is feeling exhausted, unattractive and used up with constantly leaking breasts and a body she no longer recognizes as hers. 

Ginny listens intently, asks if she’s talked to anyone else about what she’s going through. Hermione knows “anyone else” means Draco. 

“Draco . . . has been working long hours and when he comes home he’s also exhausted and only interested in spending time with the baby.” Thinking she might sound ungrateful for that, she rushes to amend, “Which is wonderful – he’s an absolutely splendid father, very involved when he’s there, you know. It’s just –“

Ginny smiles certainly into her teacup. “You’re missing intimacy with him, right?” 

Slightly embarrassed, Hermione nods, glancing at her sleeping son. “It’s not even . . . it’s not even the sex – which I do miss, very much. I would love to have a conversation that lasts more than thirteen seconds and does not involve talking about soiled nappies, arguments about pumping my breasts or how badly the laundry is backed up.” She brushes away frustrated tears, feeling even more frustrated that she’s crying about this.

Ginny hands over more napkins with concern etched across her face as she pulls it out of Hermione that she’s at once . . . _hurt_ and _relieved_ Draco hasn’t seemed interested in sex because though she misses it (a lot), she’s also irrationally afraid that she’ll be numb or unable to achieve orgasm, that Draco will find the changes to her physique as unattractive as she feels, that neither of them will find the pleasure in each other they once did.

“And I’m not sure how to proceed . . . I know that if I leave it alone much longer, our marriage will suffer.” The fact is: Hermione hasn’t let Draco touch her in weeks (not that he’s actually tried to touch her with anything more than casual necessity) and he hasn’t seen her naked body since the birth, and she knows the longer she lets this fester, the more and more anxious she’ll become of when it will actually happen. 

And she has no doubt it will happen at some point. Her and Draco’s sex life had been characterized by an explosive soul-deep passion before Scorpius had arrived. Even after five years together (three married), they had not been able to keep their hands from each other. Actually, that’s probably why she got pregnant so quickly once the decision was made to start trying. 

When Scorpius starts whimpering in his sleep, it’s Ginny who takes him up and cradles him, smoothing her fingertips over his tiny eyebrows over and over again until he settles again. “You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself when both of you are equally at fault . . . What is it you actually want, Hermione? Maybe you should make a detailed list, then sit Draco down and discuss it?” It’s really a statement, but her voice goes a little high at the end as if in question.

None of her friends have ever really understood how she and Draco had come together though they had all accepted him into their ragtag family with little (okay, more than a little) drama.

Hermione _knows_ she has to talk to Draco about this, and the only thing keeping her from doing so _yesterday_ is their horrible schedules, the ever encroaching fatigue when they are together in the same place, and her seeming inability to interrupt his time with Scorpius.

She should have listened to her parents when they warned her that having a baby changes the spousal dynamic. Despite the ease of getting pregnant, her pregnancy was difficult with months suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum, many weeks of partial bed rest interspersed until the last three weeks when she was condemned to complete bed rest. Draco had been attentive and caring through it all, taking off of work to make sure she was comfortable and _followed her midwife’s orders_. 

The birth had been even more difficult with Scorpius coming entirely too early and presenting in full breech. Their bedroom had been transformed into a magical version of a muggle NICU, a team of healers on hand as she gave birth after 32 hours of labor with no pain potions and passed out after she heard his first cry. 

Draco had tearfully made her swear she would never, ever scare him like that again, as if she had planned to lose consciousness for eleven minutes.

Thankfully, despite being nearly two months early, Scorpius had been healthy from day one and was thriving. Hermione looks at her baby in Ginny’s arms and smiles softly at how beautiful and precious he is, how much love she feels for him, how it was all _worth this._

“You’re right . . . I just – it’s stupid really but I just want to feel loved and desired again. Right now, it’s like we’ve devolved into some strangely _platonic_ roommate . . . _thing_.” She continues to say she’s tried the lines of communication by asking him to tell her about his day, about his work, but he’ll shut her down by saying he doesn’t really want to talk about that before taking the baby and retreating to the nursery where she can hear him on the monitor, rocking Scorpius and talking to him in hushed tones about anything and everything while Hermione struggles to make dinner – sometimes crying over it silently.

“I even a suggested having a date night a few days ago, and he asked me what we would do with Scorpius.” Ginny lets out a low whistle as her face contorts into a wince. Hermione says, “When I – very pointedly – told him we could line up a babysitter, he . . . Merlin, Ginny, he looked at me as if I had suggested we abandon him to the house alone instead, as if I were the very worst parent on the face of the planet.” She sneers but her lower lip trembles as her voice breaks, “For just a moment he looked at me the way he looks at Lucius.”

With tears in her eyes ( _again_ ), Hermione hoarsely tells Ginny, “What if it was all for Scorpius? What if he only wanted me to birth his heir and with that done, I’m . . .,” she struggles around a sob, “disposable?”

With a pained expression, Ginny places a hand on hers, holding it there then grasping her friend’s fingers. “You need to tell him how you’re feeling, Hermione. I don’t really understand how it happened but anyone with eyes can see that Draco Malfoy worships the ground you walk upon.”

Hermione stutters that she’s tried with little success for all the reasons already stated, and because when he arrives home so late, she only has energy to cook or warm his dinner before collapsing into bed because she knows Scorpius will be up again in two hours, ready for his next feeding. 

Ginny coughs, adjusting her one-armed hold on Scorpius and nods to Hermione’s chest. “Like now?”

Looking down to see the wet milk spots darkening the vibrant blue of her shirt, Hermione swears, “Bollocks.” She fishes out a few dry breast pads from the changing bag (proudly emblazoned with a Slytherin green ‘M’ and the Malfoy family crest) then blithely reaches to stuff them into her bra – uncaring about being in public. “I’ve become a fucking heifer, I swear. The leaking is so constant, my nipples are always pruned no matter how much lanolin I slather on them, and our bed permanently stinks of milk.” She aims a watery smile at Ginny even as she shoulders an unflattering plaid over t-shirt. “I’m also afraid that if Draco lays one finger on my breasts, my milk will shoot out and blind him.”

Ginny barks out a laugh, grinning even as her fingers catch Hermione’s again. “Do you want me or Harry to talk to him?”

Hermione emphatically says no, this is her problem and she needs to deal with it herself. (Also, the thought of Harry encouraging Draco to fuck her is . . . unsettling to say the least.)

Trying to be positive, Ginny suggests new lingerie – “You know, something you can feel sexy in.”

Hermione snorts, “Something that _fits_.” She had had to buy several new bras (mostly nursing) as her old ones were now too small. She had been about replace her entire (limited) wardrobe because NOTHING fit or didn’t fit RIGHT anymore, but her mother had warned her that her body was still healing, her insides might still be a smidge swollen or shifting and to give it a few more weeks before she threw out her old clothes in favor of new ones.

That advice had given Hermione pause. She is a witch after all. A few tailoring spells later had seen two of her favorite outfits fall apart. Lesson learned. But she still hasn’t gone on a well-deserved shopping spree. Nope, she is – instead – getting a little more mileage out of her maternity clothes. Yes, some of them seemed to swim on her frame, but they are easy and comfortable.

“And frumpy.” Ginny deadpans blithely, taking a sip of her rapidly cooling tea.

Hermione stares at her long-time friend for long moments before shrugging and clinking their cups together in solidarity. “It’s not like my husband would notice.”

* * *

December 11, 2005

(that night, at the pub)

Draco is not drunk. He’s only on his first tumbler of fire whiskey. And since he isn’t drunk he is glaring at Blaise as he talks of the “greatest shag of his life” (an historic occurrence to be sure, dated last night at around 3 am). 

As his former classmate begins to wax rhapsodic about the woman’s Kegel strength, Draco downs the amber liquid fire in one go. He grits his teeth against the residual burn and welcomes the warm sensation in his belly. Stupidly, it reminds him of the sensation of Scorpius’ warm little weight lying trustfully against him during night wakings.

Blaise is laughing and jovially slapping him on the back, but honestly, Draco has no idea what his friend is on about. He opens his mouth to ask what the fuck he just said but what comes out is, “Hermione and I haven’t shagged since October.”

Soliloquy praising the prowess of his lucky dick suddenly forgotten, Blaise’s jaw drops, his glass slips his hand and shatters on the floor. “Holy fuck, mate.” He turns on his stool to face the bar, gesturing to the bartender for another fire whiskey. “That’s two whole months. Are you sure your bollocks haven’t shriveled up and fallen off from disuse?”

Draco punches him –hard – in the arm. “It’s been exactly 62 days, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold back.”

“Why the fuck would you have to hold back? You’re married. That’s 24/7 access to available, willing pussy.” Even as he talks, Blaise’s gaze is on a small ginger-haired woman as she walks into the pub and takes the seat three down from him.

Rolling his eyes, Draco swallows his second firewhiskey, emptying the tumbler in one go. “Now I know why you seem incapable of sustaining a long-term relationship.”

Blaise flags down the bartender and gives quiet instructions, pointing to the ginger woman who is now talking to two other ladies at the bar. That done, he turns his attention to Draco again. “I’m incapable of sustaining a long-term relationship because I don’t want one.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette, taking his time exhaling the death cloud. “Besides, we weren’t talking about me. Is it Hermione? Is she being the frigid bitch I’ve always imagined her to be?”

For the second time that night, Draco punches Blaise in the arm, this time with the warning, “Speak of my wife that way again and not only will I hex the shit out of you, my fist will be planted in your face.” Considering Draco is well-practiced in pugilism, this is not an inconsiderable threat.

Blaise relents. “I . . . rescind my comments about Hermione possibly being a frigid . . . lady.” He takes up his beer, speaking to the bottle. “You could always fuck your secretary.”

“ _Fucking Christ_ ,” Draco mumbles to himself before just, “I’m not fucking anyone else, Blaise. This is why Hermione hates you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Blaise mutters flippantly. “Anyway, I would think you’d hate her a little bit too. She’s the one causing your rampant case of blue balls.”

“It’s not her fault.” Draco grates out, wondering why the hell he’s still friends with this immature arsemonger. “She was on bed rest before Scorpius arrived and during that time the doctor warned that having relations might send her into premature labor.” His fingers absently rotate an empty tumbler, his eyes studying the slow crawl of the lingering drops of liquor. “Then after the baby was born, she had to heal; but she was cleared a few weeks ago and . . . “

The ginger woman receives her drink and turns to look at Blaise who is smirking at her while leaning on the bar in an alluring pose. He lifts his drink to her before deliberately wrapping his lips around –

“Are you fucking listening, Zabini?” Draco grumbles, hitting Blaise’s supporting elbow, uncaring when his fellow Slytherin crashes headfirst into the bar surface.

The ginger woman laughs, lifting the drink Blaise had paid for before leaving the bar with her friends for a table.

Pride wounded, Blaise pouts at his sexually frustrated friend. “I am fucking listening _now_ , you tosser.” He rubs his chin where he impacted the bar. “And just so you know, you are a horrible wingman.”

Draco glowers. “As I was saying: She was cleared for normal activity a few weeks ago, but I could tell she was terrified. She had that look in her face – like when we were just beginning to be friends and I couldn’t stop flirting with her.”

“Ah yes, the memories . . . . You were an insufferable wanker back then too.”

“She’s just . . . Fuck, Blaise, I didn’t think I could love her more than I already did, but she’s amazing . . . a fucking Valkyrie, she was, giving birth to my son. So beautiful – even in joggers and milk stained t-shirts with unkempt hair and no makeup. When I see her at the end of the day, all I want is to shag her into the carpet or bend her over the dining table; but she’s so tired from the nursing and minding the baby . . . I don’t want to bother her.” He runs a hand through his already mussed hair. “So I take Scorpius into the nursery to just . . . spend time with him and hope I can calm down by the time dinner is ready.”

Blaise stares at his childhood friend with something akin to disgust riddled envy. “I’m sorry, not an expert on married people things, but why are you telling _me_ all of this? Shouldn’t you be talking to your harridan swot of a wife?”

“Talking about it makes me randier . . . so I try not to bring it up with her.” He doesn’t know it, but he’s somewhat moon-eyed. “She asked for a date a little while ago . . . I wanted to fucking jump her.”

“Aaannnddd?” Blaise drawls, completely uninterested but _trying._

“And nothing. I was a fucking pansy. All I wanted was to say yes, but then I thought maybe she had caught me out wanking or something and felt she _had_ to offer. I came up with some bullshit excuse that I wasn’t comfortable leaving Scorpius with a babysitter.” He looks vaguely sick.

Blaise brandishes his fourth drink. “Maybe you should slow down, old boy. You’re looking a little . . . green.”

Draco glares at him. “I’m not sick. I just thought of my last date with Hermione and –” Silver eyes dart down.

At that Blaise can’t resist glancing down into Draco’s lap. “Merlin’s crusty dick, Draco!”

Draco grits his teeth, hissing, “62 days!” He downs his third fire whiskey (he hadn’t even needed to order it). “She just had my baby. I can’t ask for more than that.”

“Well if you don’t want to talk to her about it, seduce the fuck out of her.” Then, “It worked once, after all.”

Wide-eyed, he slowly places the empty tumbler next to the previous two. “That’s . . . that’s actually not a bad idea.”

Blaise finishes his beer and waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fucking brilliant. Think of it as your early Christmas present.”

* * *

December 24, 2005

Draco spends days after his conversation with Blaise in the pub formulating his plan of attack. His wife is a Gryffindor through and through (though she can be as ruthless and cunning as himself and any other snake he knows), and doesn’t really enjoy being on the receiving end of under-handed tactics (no matter how sweet the results). 

For this, he knows he will have tamp down his natural sly subtlety for a more blatant style. He begins with a series of notes. Some are simple with a ‘Good morning’ or ‘I hope this note finds your day going well’ or ‘Make sure to eat and get some rest while the baby’s sleeping.’ Others are more affectionate in tone: ‘I’m thinking about you’ or ‘I can’t wait to see your beautiful face when I get home’ or ‘I love you.’ There a few that are encouraging and uplifting (and maybe a little corny but Draco knows Hermione secretly loves corny romance): ‘Your smile fills this house with light’ or ‘When I watch you with Scorpius, I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am to have you as my wife and the mother of my child. Thank you for giving me a chance, love” or “I know you’re tired and probably bored sometimes, but you are brilliant and amazing; and I’ve been in awe of you since first year”. 

Then there are the more risqué private messages, hidden amid Hermione’s delicates, the locked and warded drawer in his study, and nestled in the pages of her book du jour: ‘I miss the feel of your skin under my hands’ or ‘Right now, I hear you singing to our son, and I’m imagining a different song breaking from your lips, one that sounds like my name as I savor you and make you come on my tongue” or “I caught a glimpse of you in the bathroom mirror today before I left for work. You were naked and damp and so fucking gorgeous. I will have that picture in my head when I palm my erection during my lunch break. I will have that picture in my head while I attend my meetings and wish I were with you. I will have that picture in my head when I wank in the shower as I fantasize about kissing that beautiful mouth of yours and sucking on those perfect tits and sinking my cock balls deep in your pretty little pussy, worshipping every inch of your delectable body.”

They don’t speak of the notes, but he knows she is affected by them. She smiles at him more, seems more physically receptive to his touch. He notices she flushes when he returns home at the end of the day when she’s found a naughty one. 

Their physical distance becomes smaller, smaller casual touches - like a brush of fingers over his at dinner or leaning slightly against his side when they clean dishes together – graduates to holding hands again as they put Scorpius down at night, Hermione asking him to rub lotion into her naked back after a shower or snogging on the sofa before retiring to bed themselves.

Encouraged, Malfoy ups his game, sending her a large mixed bouquet of red and coral roses, blue violets, azaleas, red and pink camellias, forsythia, holly, and tiger lilies; priceless first editions of her favorite books as well as a few from her ‘book wish list’; and her favorite treats from countries they’ve visited. He also asks Ginny to get Hermione out of the house and hires a muggle house keeper to give their home a thorough cleaning while she is gone, surprising her with a clean house and put away laundry.

He also wakes between Scorpius night feedings to set up their Christmas tree and decorations. He’s absolutely dead on his feet the next day, but Hermione’s reaction and subsequent embrace are well worth it.

That done, on the morning of Christmas Eve he surprises her again with the news that he will be taking care of Scorpius for the day while she goes to have a relaxing, pampered day at the spa. When she stares at him in disbelief and expresses doubt any spa would be open for the holiday, he admits he bought the place out just for her. She then protests that he is spoiling her, to which he replies that she has never let him spoil her before and he isn’t allowing her to refuse this time. 

Sheepishly, she admits she’s been feeling rather spoiled with the notes and the house keeper and the breakfast in bed (served to her yesterday while Draco fed Scorpius from a bottle) and . . . 

He chuckles and tells her she’ll be late if she doesn’t get a move on. She hesitates, staring at him with a bald expression of concern and he points out that there is more than enough of her breastmilk stocked in the freezer and there is nothing too pressing for him to take care of with the holiday so near. Then he pulls her close, tells her that she deserves this and kisses her thoroughly before sending her off with a medium force spanking on the rear. 

She aims a concerned look at him before leaving while reminding him where the emergency phone numbers are . . . and if he forgot to use the phone, to just send her a patronus and remember the disposable nappies are in the baby’s closet and -- 

At this point, Draco is grinning at her utterly predictable need to control anything and everything, shutting her up again with a kiss that is more filthy than sweet (his ardour only amplified by her rambling list of reminders and concerns and fuck, _just_ the sound her voice) and not enough by half. 

Her eyes have gone somewhat hazy when they break apart, a fact he takes great pride in, as she asks one more time if he is sure.

He touches her chin with his free hand (the other occupied with cradling their sleeping baby) and assures her (again) that they will be just fine and if she keeps asking he will start feeling offended of her doubt and low opinion in his parenting skills.

She bites her lip and his gaze darkens, making her blush. She trips over herself exiting the door after whispering a shy and thick ‘thank you’. He knows she’ll appreciate today, particularly when she sees what he has been planning for the last week – the _coup de grace_ of his master plan to seduce his wife.

Feeling remarkably accomplished, Draco glances down at his sleeping son – bundled up a in Slytherin green and complimenting gray blanket his mother had knitted for him – to gleefully explain, “It might seem strange, son, that your mummy and daddy have been married for three years and are now repeating our courtship; but one day you too will be where I’m standing, and I hope you give your wife what I’m trying to give mine.” 

What he doesn’t say is that he’s been a selfish prat of a husband, thinking of himself and waiting for Hermione to tell him what she needs instead of just asking her. They had made a promise to each other and he is breaking it at every turn, expecting too much from her while giving the bare minimum of himself. 

It had taken a bit of quiet observation (and ignoring his libido) – with some help from various friends and house elves - to see that Hermione is more than just exhausted physically. She is mentally worn out and emotionally spent. Her every waking moment is spent taking care of the baby. When she isn’t nursing, rocking, changing, or cleaning the baby she is pumping her milk, cleaning up messes and toys, trying to do laundry, cleaning dishes, and trying to keep up with correspondence from work. 

As far as he can tell, the woman rarely takes a moment to eat or nap (nursing comas don’t count) nor does she do anything for herself during the day. She can’t even find the time to read – for pleasure or business. Her every action and concern is in caring for Scorpius. Then, when Draco comes home, her attention is dominated with caring for Scorpius _and_ Draco until she collapses (sometimes without showering or changing into pajamas) into their bed.

After he had begun leaving the notes and Hermione’s mood had improved, his heart had cracked a little when the ginger Potter nee Weaslette had confided in him that Hermione often feels alone and sometimes cries while he is with Scorpius. That’s when he stepped up his game, feeling guilty at how characteristically selfish he has been. Here is his beloved wife putting the needs of their son and him first while running herself into the ground, and he is bitching about the state of his cock.

He wants to give her _herself_ back by providing what he should have been providing before – time for her to care for herself, time for _him_ to care for _her_ , time for _them_ to share with Scorpius as a new _family._

So he takes Scorpius with him to pick up his suit and robes from the cleaners, has the house keeper tidy up the house, drops Scorpius (with breastmilk and change bag and a million clean nappies) at his Nana and Papa Granger’s house, then begins the arduous process of cooking dinner for his wife. 

The muggle way. 

When dinner is safely nestled in the heated oven and the dessert is chilling in the refrigerator, he goes upstairs to shower and dress, marking the time.

He still has a half hour before she is due back by the time he has fixed his hair and dabbed a bit of cologne. All that is left to do is to set the table, pour the wine and light the candles.

The winter gloom allows a romantic ambiance when he dims the lights, an army of candles taking on the responsibility of visibility. He smirks as he takes in his own handiwork, leaning one hip against their sofa when he hears Hermione’s key in the door. 

When she enters, she immediately zones in on his form – shadowed with candle light and asks – confusedly and with a hint of fire, “What’s this?”

He approaches her and she stiffens, her eyes luminous with candle glow. He takes her in – still dressed in maternity pants and an oversized blouse, her hair in a messy bun that smells of coconut. Her skin shimmers slightly with a light sheen of lingering massage oil and her frame seems slightly less tense than before. 

It’s all he can ask for really. 

He kisses her softly, wrapping his arms around her, his palms cradling and supporting her lower back. “Did you have a good day, my love?”

Her eyes narrow and she pushes away from him. “What is going on, Draco?” An edge of panic seems to suddenly darken the space around her. “Where is Scorpius?”

He tells her he wanted some alone time with her and the baby is with her parents. 

“On Christmas Eve? On his first Christmas?” Her tone is incredulous and breaking as her eyes fill with moisture. 

“Hermione,” Draco’s own tone brooks no argument. “You need a break, and we need some time _together.”_ He holds out his arms to her in invitation and supplication. “I promise I will pick him up before Christmas Day dawn if that is your wish; but I’m not giving up tonight.” 

She softens then, flushing shyly and tells him that she really needed a spa day and thanks him, reaching up on her toes to hug his shoulders and nuzzle into his neck. “So . . . you have me relaxed and caught me off guard and we’re alone, what’s next on the agenda?” 

Blinking down at her, he adopts a clueless, innocent look. “Are you implying that I have something planned, dear wife?”

“I smell a chicken roasting which means you cooked. I _know_ you’re planning something, dear husband” Draco never did anything for someone without expecting something in return. 

“Only your happiness, darling.” He kisses the tip of her nose in a way that makes her go cross-eyed for a moment. “Now, why don’t you go upstairs, have a nice soak in the bath. I’ll finish up dinner and then we’ll dine.”

Hermione bites her bottom lip, suppressing (or trying to) a delighted smile. Her body is a tingling mass of nerves, her breasts are heavy and surely leaking in anticipation but she doesn’t care. He’s looking at her like _she_ is dinner and he’s starving.

She runs upstairs to their bedroom to find a large white box wrapped up in red and gold ribbon. Opening it, she finds a beautiful sequin dress in burgundy and rose gold that makes her catch her breath before she actually pulls the whole thing out – long sleeves and short, short skirt – to curse her husband as a complete and utter chauvinistic prat (laughing the whole while). At least the dress won’t reveal the surprise she had been planning to give him _tomorrow_. 

Ah well, plans weren’t set in stone. She lays the dress out on the bed then fishes her surprise out of the depths of her closet before stepping into the ensuite. Gasping, Hermione takes in the tub practically overflowing with rose petal laden bubbles surrounded by countless lit candles. Testing the water, she finds it to be the perfect temperature – just below scalding.

“Oh Draco . . . you wonderful, wonderful, _stupid_ man.” She honestly didn’t know how he will ever top this. Ever. And they’ve only been married three years. Only had one child. 

What the hell was he going to do when they got into a fight (it was a once a week minimum occurrence) or had an anniversary (number four was in three months) or had another baby (she has warned him she plans to have at least two more)?

She rubs her thighs together thinking about making those future babies as she smears the moisture on her lips. She is going to suck the fucking life out of his cock tonight.

* * *

Draco cooked her oven-roasted chicken with spring vegetables, the first meal she ever made him. This time, however, it is a candlelit spread with smooth jazz caressing their ears and a lovely elf wine blooming across their palates. 

Dinner begins seated across each other but soon evolves into sitting close – Hermione practically on his lap - on the floor in front of the fireplace as they feed each other and he reads to her between drugging kisses: soft kisses, hard kisses, chaste kisses, helplessly passionate kisses and slow, drawn-out languid kisses that take her breath away.

And between those kisses, they talk of everything they’ve been afraid to talk about.

Everything she had told Ginny earlier in the month fades away. She isn’t alone in this marriage. He isn’t disgusted by the changes in her body or her inability to be as she was before their son ravaged their routines and fulfilled their world. No, it is obvious. Draco loves her. He wants her. The way he grips her hips, brushes his palms up the sides of her breasts, and feathers his fingertips along the inside of her thighs tells her so. 

She isn’t sure what has spurred him to do all of this – the notes and everything else; but she feels so utterly loved, desired, and cared for, it doesn’t matter.

It’s when his hand reaches for the zipper at her back that Hermione breaks from his lips and suggests going upstairs to bed. Draco smirks that infuriating smirk that reminds her of when they were children and he knew he had the upper hand. 

It’s the smirk that saw her fist meet his face for the first time. (It wasn’t the last).

He kisses her again, drags his teeth along her lower lip and whispers that he’ll be up just after he puts their dishes in the basin, and she about comes just there.

Kissing and sucking that sensitive spot just below his ear, she murmurs back to take his time. She has a little surprise for him too. She nearly loses her footing when he caresses the back of her knee and can feel his eyes on her as she makes her way upstairs again, her cheeks as burning hot as her dampening cunt.

Jesus Christ, she was so _ready_. 

As soon as she was out of his visual range, she runs to their bedroom and writhes out of her dress, turning to the full length mirror to view the rather demure white fur trimmed shimmering pale green negligée she had bought a week ago, complete with green string bikini style panties.

She has plans for those panties. Plans that involve Draco’s teeth.

Her reflection grins lustily.

Unfortunately, the effect is lost as two patches of pale green turn dark with leaking breast milk. “Oh no, no, no!” She should have pumped before going to dinner! She should have –

“Oh yes, yes, yes.” Draco appears behind her, his hands going straight to her over-sensitive and no doubt hard breasts. His touch is soft, mindful of how pressure will further soil his “gift”. “You look _delicious_ my lovely Christmas elf. Are you here to grant my Christmas wish?”

She turns her head to meet his kiss and can’t help but smile into it when his fingers stray beneath the straps of her little nightie and slowly ease them down her arms. “That depends, what _is_ your Christmas wish?”

The whisper of silk falling to the floor and a soft feminine gasp before a purred, “You. Just you, Hermione.”

“Funny,” she groans when bends her back to take her nipple in his mouth and suck the excess milk there. “That’s my Christmas wish too.”

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES on the flower meanings:
> 
> RED ROSES – LOVE  
> CORAL ROSE- DESIRE  
> BLUE VIOLETS - Watchfulness; Faithfulness; I'll Always Be True  
> AZALEA – TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF FOR ME, FRAGILE PASSION  
> PINK CAMELLIAS – LONGING FOR YOU  
> RED CAMELLIAS - YOU ARE A FIRE IN MY HEART  
> FORSYTHIA – ANTICIPATION  
> HOLLY – DOMESTIC HAPPINESS  
> TIGER LILY – PRIDE


End file.
